Chronicled in Cotton

Sometimes we forget how important stains are

This worn out shirt
as been so much more than
cloth thread and buttons
here this stain
our first date red wine and pasta
and there upon the collar tip
a trace of our first kiss,
his breast still bares confetti in the rain
as we left the church.
Here just visible
upon the shoulder see
the milk White mark of her first belch,
here were she threw her food
in her first tantrum.
The hem finger painted
by her need to know
everything,
and cuffs singed from the BBQ
to celebrate her 10th.
Mixed oil and blood
from her first mountain bike,
the tearful water stain
from broken hearts and boys
and there the sick from her first drink
of alcohol and defiance.
This shirt has been so much more
than cloth
and thread
and buttons
it has been the scrapbook
of years they spent,
with me
to chronicle each stain
and never
scrub so hard on laundry day
as to affect
theirs and mine sweet memories
bound in cotton.

Author's Note

The shirt is actually a pillow case I have had since birth and as consoled my children and comforted when ill or lonely as it smells like daddy.

Reviews

[J Todd Underhill]

I love this, last night my sister donned a coat that was warn by my mother when she was alive, it had not been washed so it smelled like a hug from our mother. My wife and I took turns repeatedly hugging my sister!

[Daytonight]

Awww! So very beautiful! So sweet and touching! Keep up the great work.

[November Gold]

I love this! It's beautiful and full of love